


A Tale of Two Lovers

by AdoreLou_6



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 18th Century, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternative Universe - Kingdom, Angst and Fluff and Smut, King Louis Tomlinson, M/M, Multi, Politics, Prince Harry Styles, Romanticism, Soulmates, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:08:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22386196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdoreLou_6/pseuds/AdoreLou_6
Summary: “ Louis William Tomlinson, who is this man? A handsome figure and a vacant heart? Filled only with luscious jewellery and golden sparkles? Or maybe he’s an unbending ruler, strong and fierce, with a deep soul and a restless mind.Or… what if he’s just as pleasant as he looks? That would mess harry up. He’s not sure he’d be able to snap out of it then.”
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Liam Payne/Original Female Character(s), Niall Horan/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! It’s AdoreLou6. I had this idea a while ago while in a group chat, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so I wrote it. 
> 
> Hope you like it! 
> 
> @AdoreLou6 on Twitter

**A Tale of Two Lovers**

**Introduction**

The story I’m about to tell you is not a known one. It takes place in a forgotten reign of which the people, and the burning feelings that once inflamed their bodies, now exist only in these words and pages, written by the menial hand of someone who’s had the chance to hear the whispers that a faint wind from the east brought to their ears years and years ago.

I don’t know if this story is completely real, or it has been changed and altered throughout the many places and times it has endured, but when I firstly got to know the immense pains and joys of the characters we’re soon to meet, my fingers couldn’t stop themselves from writing, and so I finally came to the realisation that a love so pure, so genuine — and so painful — could not be left unknown to many. A tale of two lovers, of two Countries and, mostly, of two young men, exploring themselves and reaching the deepest part of their souls while searching for each other.

But now, without taking any more of your time, I welcome you to let yourself float into the beautiful flows of ancient scenes and melodies you’re about to read, but also keep you heart sure and fond in the safeness of knowing that we’ll hopefully never experience the hardships our beloveds have faced; sometimes coming out of them with flying colours, sometimes losing and hurting. But that’s the beauty of all it, and our nameless friends had been happy to experience every single emotion, to feel alive. Now, it’s my duty to make sure they’ll live forever, engraved in these pages.

Take a breath, and leave the outer world behind yourself. Welcome to the story of Harry and Louis, the Orchid and the Sunflower.


	2. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ”When his father died, he had the feeling he’d be ruling over a nation on the brink of crisis. “It didn’t take too much to become a reality” he thinks. “

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Violence and death, please be safe while reading.

Louis, swathed in a black thick cloak, observes a blunt blow of dark smoke rise from a small knot of tawny coloured houses perched on a small rocky prominence. He has just a few seconds to focus on the scene in the distance before a stagecoach, scampering down the rock-strewn path, almost runs over him. He jolts away with a quick movement, nearly tripping over his feet. The rumbling of voices, sounds and people that crowd the cramped roads of the Skopeerk borough, make his head spin and his eyes dart from one side to the other. 

He walks forward, dodging farmers and peasants, forced to create room around him elbowing others. While he moves further, now almost running, Louis spots several shining gold armours that glimmer against the flicker coming from a burning wagon. Louis has a split second to distinguish a metallic clashing sound, while he fastly focuses a gleaming blade darting in a below movement, whooshing down and reaching the tender surface of a man’s nape. A spatter of blood spouts out, while the armoured man retracts the sword now in na upward motion, leaving the farmer, kneeling, gurgling wet words that make no coherent sound, bubbling red matter out of his mouth. He finally drops down, facing the mud, while his sparkly red blood continues flowing from the open wound.

Louis’ eyes widen, but he can’t get himself involved in it. He sprints forward, smoke burning his eyes, people touching and bumping against his body, boots stomping in the thick brown mud, stumbling in other people’s feet and legs, in a swirling of bodies that are fighting to survive and escape from the horrors of the revolt.

Louis speeds, finally getting out of the mass of men and women crowding the narrow square of the village. He glances upwards: a long wooden pyre stands among the throng. Louis blinks a couple of times, finally making his eyes be able to observe without the veil of smoke, and his expression gets painted with shock. A naked man hangs from the pyre, a chunky rope wrapped around his neck. He notices his body, beaten and swollen, in a mixture of blue and purple hues, his hands and feet covered in encrusted blood. Then, the young man finally notices his face: his hair, long and black fall messy on his shoulders, while his white and watery eyes almost gouged out are fixated on the sky. His mouth open and violet, with his swollen thick tongue sticking out.

Louis recognises that man: is Serf Gylaw, lording of the Skooperk’s village. Louis freezes for a moment.

This is the first revolt he has seen since ruling the Kingdom. He’s only twenty-three, and has been king for two years now. When his father died, he had the feeling he’d be ruling over a nation on the brink of crisis. _“It didn’t take too much to become a reality”_ he thinks.

Louis takes a step forward, and notices a figure hunched over the base of the pyre. It’s Margarita Gylaw, the widow. Her clothes are covered in mud and ripped, her hair tousled. The woman cries, rips her clothes and pulls her hair. Louis watches her, powerless. He goes to reach her, puts his hand on her shoulder and quickly engulfs her in an embrace.

– Margarita! Margarita stop! What are you doing? You’re hurting yourself! Stop!

Louis cries, trying to keep the woman steady in his arms, barely succeeding.

– They killed him! They killed him! They murdered my husband… Those pieces of shit!

Margarita screams at the top of her lungs, facing at louis with a hollow stare.

– Who did this Margarita? I promise I’m going to catch them and I’ll make them pay!

– The peasants, the people did it! They killed him, my sweet husband… - The widow doesn’t seem to recognise Louis’ face. She freezes for a moment and pushes him away - Who are you? Fucking leave me alone! Who are you? What do you want to do, kill me? Do it! Do it!

Louis stares, mouth agape, eyes darting right to left. He needs a few seconds to realise that Margarita, with whom he has many times exchanged pleasant light talks at the Palace during banquets, now doesn’t remember him. She fidgets relentlessly, gripping her hair and clothes, squirming and breathing heavily.

Louis understands that she’s panicking, and she doesn’t see him. He tries to reach to her one more time, lending her his hand, slowly.

– I’m Louis, Margarita, come, I’ll take you to a safe place… – But before he could finish his sentence, Margarita blurts out a screeching sound, and throws a pointy rock towards his direction. Louis feels a sharp pain on his right temple. His vision is blurred for a second, and everything starts spinning. Voices, tumbling of noises, horses’ frightened neighs, all melt together creating an unbearable tumult into Louis’ ears.

In a haze, Louis tries his best to run away, hands and knees down in the dirt. He stumbles on the pebble, an finally manages to get up on his feet. He bolts away from the crowd-packed square, pushing ad bumping other inflamed bodies. 

Louis presses his fingers to the side of his head, and feels the unmistakable wetness of blood on his finger tips. It hurts, and his head hurts, and he feels confused and agitated.

When he finally recollects his surroundings, he spots his horse. He sprints to it recalling all his strength, and immediately mounts on him.

– Go Pericles, go!

He hits its side, and the horse bolts, galloping though the dirt and water to the nearest empty valley.

Louis pushes his horse to go as fast as it could, while the humid heavy wind cuts his face and makes his hood fall backwards, revealing wisps of light brown hair.

— Faster, faster!

What did Louis just witness? He can’t wrap his head around the complete chaos he just saw. When he ordered his guards to not follow him, he surely wasn’t expecting the revolt to be as violent as it was.

He started going out alone a year ago, when he began hearing rumours on how bad the crisis was outside the capital. He already knew that the crop had been scarce that year, but he wasn’t expecting to see people looking hollow, bones showing, with some rags barely covering their bodies, fighting for a bread crust covered in dirt.

When he came back to his palace, he immediately ordered to disclose some of their supplies they had stacked. His counsellors strongly advised him not to do it, but he chose not to listen. He expressly asked his guards to distribute a few thousand pounds of wheat around boroughs and villages.

However, last year’s famine wasn’t half as bad as this one.

Louis feels the need to get back to his palace and talk to his counsellors. They need to get help from outside the Kingdom.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Harry Styles knows that his duty as a first-born male heir of the White Orchid Kingdom, he has to be the man his subjects expect him to be.”

The sun is bushing through the large amber-coloured windows. While a faint breath of wind moves the summery curtains away, Harry starts feeling the heat of light on his skin. Moving a bit, and then finally getting out of bed, Harry stretches and enjoys the fresh thin air of early morning.

He scrupulously washes his body, puts his curly hair in place slicked back, purposely leaving a flock of curls flopping forward. He then dresses himself in a beautifully crafted pale green linen shirt (imported especially for him from Venice) and fitted white pants. He takes one last glance at the mirror, then decides it is time to start his day.

Walking through the ravishing corridor that passes across his chambers to the common rooms, Harry thinks of how he can continue the poem he has been working for while now. He always takes a _while_ to get his literary pieces done, and when anyone asks why, he reminds them that he needs it to be totally _perfect_. The perfect combination of words, of exquisite images and thought-provoking expressions.

He tells himself he’s too talented to be settling for less, and that’s that; creating the most beautifully arranged poetry is Harry’s greatest desire. 

However, he can’t disclose his talent to many people, and he knows that. Harry Styles knows that his duty as a first-born male heir of the White Orchid Kingdom, he has to be the _man_ his subjects expect him to be. An undaunted, manful, lionhearted man that fears nothing, whose greatest desire is conquest and his Kingdom’s honour; the greatness of his dynasty his only yearning.

Yet, Harry has never seen himself as the heroic kind. Indeed, what he sees when he looks in the mirror, or when he glances at his reflection in the pond of the palace’s gardens, is a thin, porcelained-skin, frightened young man.

When – at late night – he finally gets to his parchment and ink, he starts to write about how much he fears to be in charge of his father’s Kingdom – yes, his father’s, not _his_ – he weeps, and the blue ink gets mixed and watery, while anguishing words form on the paper.

Walking through the massive mahogany door that introduces the dining room, Harry puts on his _charming-prince_ smile and greets everybody in the room.

His mother, Queen Anne, quietly sitting on the other side of the table, smiles at him faintly; while courteous maids move quickly across the room to get all the food in place for breakfast.

Harry sits and finally takes a bite of his plentiful meal.

– Mother, — Harry inquires — I haven’t seen father. Is he at the Palace?

– No, dear. He has left late night. He had some troubles in East part of the Country, and he and his most faithful men departed. 

– Oh, – Harry glances away from his mother’s stare. He can’t help but feel a bit sad. he feels guilty, somehow, because he didn’t go with him to some diplomatic meeting in the East. Not that he wanted to go anyway but…

He feels _left out_.  
  


As much as he wants to ask more, the quiet conversation between the two gets abruptly interrupted by the sound of heavy stomping and loud chatter echoing from the corridor.

– Mother! How beautiful are you looking today! – Liam has arrived. Harry glances at him amused, and smiles, while he observes his brother exuding energy from each pore.

– And brother! You’re looking… elegant. Always dressing up, aren’t you? If i dressed like you I’d look like the city’s fool!

Liam laughs, and benevolently pokes Harry's shoulder. Harry can’t help but smile more.

– Your style looks perfect the way it is, Liam. What is it? Horse droppings and sweat? That could become the new vogue at palace.

— Ah, you bastard!— Liam laughs loudly — I went hunting with Josh. We caught some hares, we had fun! I would have asked you to come if you didn’t say that “it’s a brute way of passing time”.

He sits next to his brother, and grabs a piece of bread dipped in honey. Harry stares at him. Liam is covered in mud, and he smells atrocious. However, Harry feels a little bit better having him by his side.

— Liam, did you heard about father departing to the East to settle some troubles? Do you know what’s going on?

— Ah, yes, I was there when his councillors called him – Liam stuffs a bit of sweet _brioche_ into his mouth as he’s talking – They seemed quite agitated to be honest with you, brother. The East is in a mayhem right now. They’re starving, and can’t pay commercial duties anymore. Father has gone there to settle the matter diplomatically, but stuff doesn’t look too good for them.

— Oh… I didn’t know things were so serious, Liam. Which county is it? — Harry feels like all of his hunger has faded.

— County? No, Harry. It’s The Sunflower Kingdom. Father has departed to go meet the East’s King, not some enriched farmer.

Harry nods, faking an unimpressed expression. Harry never showed much interest in politics, he got too easily distracted by his daydreams to listen to the adults’ talks about political affairs. Liam, on the other hand, always seemed way more involved into taking the matter of the kingdom into his own hands. Harry always felt Liam was his father’s favourite. They both shared a common interests in traditionally male oriented activities, such as games, combat and hunt. While Harry had really good combat training, Liam could have beat him anytime. Indeed, it’s what he did every time they practiced.

— Uh, it really is some important issue then. I just hope everything gets resolved without any hassle.

— I’m sure father knows how to handle everything, Harry. I wouldn’t be brooding on it too much.

— Did you boys finish discussing politics now? You well know I don’t find debate pleasing during meals — Anne finally glances over at her sons, after quietly listening to their chatter — You should be starting with your day, now. Not you Liam, though. You need to get cleaned up.

Anne is a loving mother. Princess of the Southern part of the Country, only female daughter of the Shelley family, she married King Styles when she was not more than a young girl. She’s always been on the quiet side since Harry can remember, however lately she had been closing herself more and more, and Harry — as attentive as he his with these kind of things — noticed. He’s been playing the best son he could possibly be for her, in the desperate attempt to make her happy. Liam on the other hand, didn’t seem to notice.

— Mother! You’re always so protective of us, aren’t you? We’ve become men now, one day Harry will be king and I’ll be by his side, conquering land after land and sea after sea…

— And that means i couldn’t be telling you to look decent? You’re very wrong if you think I’d be so pliable my dear boy! — Anne politely smiled, and then got up from her seat — I’ll leave you to your activities. I’ll be in my rooms.

With these lasts words, she leaves the room, disappearing behind a handful of her maidens.

— I think I’ll follow the queen’s advice and I’ll go clean myself up. Have a good day brother, later we’ll meet the king and we’ll continue our discussion.

Liam has a fond stare in his eyes. Harry knows that his brother likes seeing him being interested into the kingdom’s matters.

They have never been similar, but they love each other, and since they were young they tried their corresponding best to get involved with the other one’s passions and wishes, so they could feel closer, in a world that seemed so stern and grave to two – happened to be – very powerful kids.

— I’ll be there, Liam. Also, it’s about time I start learning how to lead our nation.

Liam just smiled, and then left the room, as loudly as he entered.

A week passed. Harry has been wondering about his father’s affair unceasingly. Finally, the day of his return has come, and as Harry expected to happen, he has been called to attend the meeting with the King and his counsellors.

“ _At least Liam will be there._ ”

He says to himself, trying to stop the anxiety of being the centre of all the attention once again.

While climbing the steep stairs that lead to the upper part of one of the palace’s towers, Harry feels his stomach turn. He repeats to himself that there is no need to feel so nervous; he has done this a hundred times before.

However, he knows that when he’s in _that_ room, he’s not talking to his father, he’s talking to Desmond Styles, King of the White Orchid Kingdom and ruler of the West. And to a bunch of men that don’t think he’d ever be able to match his father’s ability in ruling the Country, of course.

Harry opens the heavy wood door that leads to his Father’s council room. He notices the king’s figure, standing tall and mighty among his counsellors, who look small and almost insignificant next to him.

Liam is standing relaxed, leaning on the window frame, carefully listening to any word that comes out of his father’s mouth. Liam has never been the studious type, but he attentively remembered every piece of information that his father disclosed to him.

Harry looks at him and can picture a perfect future King.

— …Oh, Harry. Come in and close the door.

Desmond glances absently at his son, and then continues discussing what Harry interrupted with his entrance.

— We need them to pay their fees. Their geopolitical position is crucial to our commercial deployment, and if their King can’t make his subjects pay the taxes, things are going to go downhill for all of us. 

— I heard that there have been some insurrections in the lowest part of the domain. Right next to the Newingshire River. I think they were mostly farmers and peasants, — Liam sighs and continues talking, eyes fixated on his father — …But we all know that the smallest spark can start a fire.

— I’ve heard that too, son. We absolutely need to defuse the situation before the whole thing bursts into an overthrow.

Harry stayed silent the whole time, while listening vigilantly. Until he feels the somber gaze of his father’s eyes upon him.

— Harry, — Desmond speaks, and the room goes silent — I need you to go there. It’s a diplomatic matter, and it’s time you start representing your Country as you should.  
  


Harry eyes widen. Just a few hours before he complained about how he felt left out, and now he’s getting thrown right into governmental business of which he knows absolutely nothing. He wishes he could say that he’s not the right e person to delegate such an important affair, but he is _exactly_ the right person to commend in critical situations, as he’s the heir, the one and only _next king_.

So he decides to swallow his fright, and works up the courage to answer his father.

— Yes, my King. It’s an honour.

His face must have revealed his true feelings, because the room remained silent for a few beats after that.

Harry keeps his gaze fiercely pointed to his father’s eyes, ignoring an almost imperceptible drip of sweat rolling down his forehead. 

Liam stares at his brother with a concerned look in his eyes. As much as Harry tries to hide it from him, he knows perfectly that his beloved brother is terrified of the idea to have so many responsibilities imposed on him.

— Your majesty, please, let me go along with him. I’ve been many times in the Sunflower kingdom and I’m sure Harry could use an assist.

Liam steps forward, keeping an unfazed stare while coming closer to his father.

Desmond looks at his sons, then lifts his shoulders, slowly nods and sighs.

— Sure. We’ll discuss of the treaty later. Everybody be dismissed now, I’m feeling quite tired.

Harry relaxes his posture, and throws a thankful glance at Liam. Once again, he saved him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Liam realised in that moment that Harry had hidden his distress for all his life, that he continued playing the perfect first-born role pushing all of his fears inside his chest, feeling an unbearable pressure since he was capable of understanding.”

Harry and Liam saddle their horses at the first cringe of morning. The sun is almost completely hidden by a thick cape of candid clouds. It takes eight days of trot to arrive to the Sunflower Kingdom, passing through a forest, a few minor cities, then again woods, and cities again. Then, they’ll finally arrive to Alabira, the bewitching capital of the east.

Harry recalls, in the most obscure recesses of his mind, sumptuous veils, made of golden threads and bedazzling stones, swirling in the hot heavy air of the east’s summer. He doesn’t seem to be able to summon up in his mind when he saw these images, if he has really been there, or if these pictures appearing before his eyes were just made up by his imaginative mind.

Once again, his daydream wandering gets interrupted by Liam’s husky morning voice.

— I think we’re all settled to go. It’s been a while since we’ve travelled together, isn’t it brother?

A warm smile appears on Liam’s lips. Harry can see the excitement in his eyes, the joy of going on an adventure with his older brother curving the sides of his mouth.

— Yes. I think the last time was a while ago… Last winter? Yes, we rode for four days to reach the damned highest hill of the Great Plains to get to that Count’s house. Do you remember that? I even clobbered you when you said that Zalika could beat Nero in a race!

Harry giggles warmly remembering the scene. Liam always hated losing.

When they were just kids, they used to go down the valley behind the palace, playing all sort of games while being constantly guarded by maidens. Sometimes though, Harry and Liam would sneak out during the hottest hours of summer, just to have some time of brotherly privacy, where they could run, scream and poke at each other forgetting about etiquette. 

One time, they were in the hazed hotness of an august middle day, playing _catch_. Harry has always been the taller one, and thanking his long slender legs he could run faster than his younger brother.

Liam, being so used to be the best at any sporting activities, didn’t like to be beaten by Harry, even if it was just a mere consequence of being the younger-born. While Harry speed through the emerald coloured field, Liam could barely keep track of his brother’s movements.

Determined to reach him, he darted as fast as his legs allowed him to do. While shutting his eyes as hard as he could to recollect the last sparks of energy left in his eleven years old’s legs, Liam tripped into a dip of dirt on the ground, losing balance and tumbling down the ground, trundling along the precipitous hill for a few seconds.

When he finally opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was his brother’s distressed face, a few inches from his, shaking him by the shoulders.

_“I’m sorry Liam, I’m so sorry! I promise I’ll let you win next time, you’re faster, you’re faster than me, I swear!”_

Liam couldn’t ever forget that line his brother cried out in panic while couched on the ground, gripping his arms with such vigour to leave marks.

While to him it was just a fall, as many others he had countless times before, to Harry it was a leakage of irresponsibility, the heavy burden of being the older one weighting on his shoulders; even when he’s just playing catch.

Liam realised in that moment that Harry had hidden his distress for all his life, that he continued playing the perfect first-born role pushing all of his fears inside his chest, feeling an unbearable pressure since he was capable of understanding.

– I vaguely remember that, brother, but I’m sure you won’t ever stop bragging about the only time you beat me on something!

Liam softly chuckles, then mounts Zalika, inviting Harry to do the same with a gesture of his hand. Harry nods, and mounts his horse.

Followed by a handful of men, the two lead the way, while a sound of hoof beats reverberates in the clear breeze of a mid-summer dawn.

Harry feels the heaviness of the long ride everywhere. His tights are sore, and so is his neck. He lays on his back, feeling the fresh sensation of cool weed touching his skin. They’ve been riding for five days now, stopping only at night to have a quick rest until the early morning. 

— I almost forgot how hard it was to ride for long distances. Everything hurts, and I’m hungry and tired. 

Harry mumbles, adjusting his position on the ground, not minding the light wind softly moving his hair back and forth.

— Then you’ll be relieved to know that we’re resting here for the night. I’ll get Nick and Michael to set up a nice camp. — Liam smiles, while leading Zalika near the other horses.

They stopped in a balmy green clearing, dotted with flourishing trees and a couple of bushes full of lively coloured berries.

They set their tents under a massive walnut tree. The late afternoon sky now became ink black, and the only light source is the sparkling fire that cracks in the silence of the night.

Harry got up, and now is sitting next to his brother and his guards, enjoying the warmth and the company.

It’s been a while since he’s felt so serene. Something about being afar from the palace — and his father — makes him feel _free ._

Sometimes, while spacing out, Harry would imagine to live in a clearing just like this one, in a small wooden house, sitting by the fireplace, writing his stories and his poems, maybe staying with someone he still hasn’t met. But, snapping to reality, he just knows that it will never be his life. Destiny chose to make him the most important twenty-something in the range of thousand feet. He just has to accept it and move on, but that feels _so_ hard to do. He even started envying his brother, whose role seems perfectly fitted for him.

At times, Harry wishes he could just _vanish._ He wishes he could just fuse with his paper and ink, and live forever in a beautifully-crafted poem, where roles and people do not exist, and are just perfect words, accurately chosen to be only what they actually are and nothing else.

— So, what do we exactly know about this treaty, Harry?

Liam’s voice cuts the silence. Harry is forced to turn back to the real world. 

— We’re going to accommodate some privileged commercial gateways, so we don’t risk losing our importations, or getting their prices up. I think that this and a few thousands pounds of edible goods should cool things down for awhile, or at least until we come up with something else. 

— That sounds brilliant brother. Father taught you well!

— It’s almost entirely his doing. I just helped defining some clauses and the final presentation.

Harry smiles, and then gets back to staring at the little sparks that the fire rhythmically spats in the dark night.

— I’m sure your help was crucial, Harry. — Liam stops for a beat, then pushes his lips and quietly says a few more words —You’re going to be a great King. I’m sure.

Liam smiles, and gently pats Harry’s back. He smiles back at him, and notices a fond stare in his eyes. He really loves his brother.

Harry still doesn’t understand how much Liam knows about him. Living together for eighteen years was enough for Liam to know Harry perfectly, but not enough for Harry to grasp to what extent he was an open book to his little brother. 

— Liam, did you already meet the King? How’s he? I know that he’s around our age. — Harry chuckles faintly — Another young ruler.

— No, I still haven’t met him. I’ve met his father before, when Desmond brought me along to see a joust. He was… a fine man, for what I remember. His son’s called Louis. That’s the new king. I don’t really recall talking to him, though.

— I see. I guess we’ll soon find out if he’s a good King or not. He’s been ruling for just two years, and the East had been already quite messed for a while before his father passed.

— I think he’s decent. Last year he dispensed a lot of the royal palace’s food to the people. Which.. I define as really _philanthropic_. — Liam giggles at his own words.

— That’s what I define as the _norm,_ Liam. Every king should hand out their food if their people are staving. Yeah?

Liam smiles bitterly.

— Tell that to our father.

And that ends the conversation between the two.

Harry says goodnight to his brother, and gets into his tent. He finally lays down. The rough texture of his bed roll scratches his soft skin a bit, and the humidity of the night makes his hair greasy. However, his eyes can’t take anymore for the day, and they close under the weight of a peaceful, deep slumber.

_A golden light, bright and warm, shines through the milky curtains. The streak of light falls over the wooden floor, enlightening small sparkles of dust floating still in the summer air. Harry feels the surface of a silky pillowcase lightly caressing his cheek. He opens his eyes, and recognises amber coloured strands of messy hair, gleaming in the soft mid-day glare. He reaches to touch, but he feels no texture caressing them._

_He moves closer to reach the figure engulfed into the candid sheets, and when he’s just a few inches close, the nameless silhouette shapes into two narrow pink lips, ajar and wet, into a pair of stunning long lashes, imperceptibly fluttering with lids still closed. Harry feels the urge to kiss those lips. All of his body feels drawn towards the magnetic aura of the anonymous body facing him. He finally joins their mouths together. Harry’s whole body is invested with a throb. His limbs are tingling, his head’s light. Harry grows hungrier and hungrier for those lips, kissing them more and more, licking them and sucking them. He rolls over the figure, his breath heavy and rhythmic. Finally, he reaches for their lower body, and—_

— Ah!

Harry wakes up.

— Shit.

Harry feels the pressure of his trousers press on his crotch.

What now?

He looks around, trying to get his eyes to focus the dark shapes in the tent. He spots his brother’s silhouette, breathing softly, just a few feet from him. 

He surely can’t touch himself with his brother lying next to him. Harry sighs, and lays down again, trying to close his eyes and forget what he just dreamed.

_”I’m so fucking weird”._

With these words Harry’s mind falls again in the soothing silence of the night.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “ Louis William Tomlinson, who is this man? A handsome figure and a vacant heart? Filled only with luscious jewellery and golden sparkles? Or maybe he’s an unbending ruler, strong and fierce, with a deep soul and a restless mind.
> 
> Or… what if he’s just as pleasant as he looks? That would mess harry up. He’s not sure he’d be able to snap out of it then.”

Harry had noticed the enormous walls surrounding the city since they passed the river, and it was almost a day of trot of distance from Alabira. 

Liam insisted they passed through the borough where a few days ago a revolt broke out. Harry had never seen something like that. Of what he knew to be a picturesque little village, now remained only brune small burned houses, corpses still decaying in the streets, and the few lone people that roamed through the streets looked at them with hated and distrust.

Harry doesn’t know how they managed to walk through the borough without getting lynched.

Remembering the day before, Harry still shivers. The images of those destroyed lives are seared in his brain, and won’t let him alone. He wonders which kind of king would leave those poor people to themselves. Hungry, desperate and ill, fighting for their rights to be alive and for their own lives.

_“This treaty will soothe things down. These people are the reason I’m doing it.”_

Harry thinks, and his chest finds a bit of peace. He’ll be a good king if he manages to be honest, generous and compassionate. At least he hopes so.

— We’re almost there. I’m a bit excited to be honest, Harry. I haven’t been here in years. You’ll love Alabira, it’s beautiful and pompous, a bit like you.

Harry chuckles at his brother’s words.

— I don’t think i can compete with the _Jewel_ of the country, Liam… But thanks, I guess. And uh- I’m not pompous.

The small company finally enters the colossal door that leads into the city. A handful of guards dressed in shiny golden armours greet them.

The difference between the outside and the inside of Alabira is astonishing: what Harry saw until that moment was just famine, desertification and sorrow. Even the landscape became poorer and poorer the more they reached the further part of the east.

But in the moment he stepped inside the walls, he felt like he was in a completely different setting. The capital is a whole world of its own.

Tall and soaring buildings emerge from the sandy ground, countless stalls full of every odds and ends stand messy in the streets, while a moltitude of colours gleam and pound in Harry’s eyes. Myriads of people, all different in colours and looks bolt through the streets, a plethora of different languages and sounds never heard before echo in Harry’s ears.

Smells of spices and indistinguishable odours and perfumes fill his nose, while he keeps gazing up, noticing numerous torches lightening the dark night.

They proceed on the main street, a long crowded straight path that crosses the whole city, and leads directly to the King’s palace. 

The Sunflower Palace is exactly what Harry pictured in his mind when his mother read goodnight tales to him, describing beyond imagination sceneries, golden towering castles; stages of intricate subterfuges and passionate intrigue.

The castle, mighty and herculean, stands in the middle of an emerald meadow that extends for what to Harry seems to be miles. The path that opens behind the golden gate, manned by sumptuously dressed guards, is tree-lined with red maple trees. They completely cover the sky above the way, creating a vermillion passage that lights with plenty small lamp posts that flicker as they pass.

Harry is amazed with the beauty of everything. When they finally walk along all the path, the white mighty door opens, and a flock of guards move away from the entrance.

— The King Louis William Tomlinson, ruler of the east and sovereign of the Sunflower Kingdom!

A guard shouts, and the small crowd of men dissolves in lines, while a tiny figure appears behind them.

Harry and Liam left their horses a few feet behind, and now are standing rigid towards the man facing them.

Louis breaks the silence.

— Welcome to my domain, Harry Edward and Liam James Styles, first and second born of the Styles’ dynasty. It’s my pleasure to meet you. — A charming smile cuts Louis’ lips — Please be my guest and feel free to accommodate yourselves as you were in your own home. We’ll meet at dinner. Now, let me be excused. Our valets will escort you to your rooms.

Louis smiles again, showing a perfect set of white teeth.

Harry and Liam bow slightly. Harry admires the young man’s figure in front of them. His amber hair is perfectly combed backwards, and a splendid golden crown is placed on his gracious head; juicy looking rubies and deep blue sapphires embedded in the precious coronet shine at the flickering of the torches.

Harry feels his body become a heavy. He should say something to the King, but his mouth feels mushy and his palms sweaty.

He looks nervously at Liam, whose head is still bowed to the king. Harry’s breath gets shorter. Louis is standing still, small gloved hands interlocked, while he observes him with what Harry would describe as a cat-like stare, curious and dangerous.

What’s happening? His mind doesn’t seem to be responding correctly. It’s probably due to the long trip, or to the crowd, or to the new places, colours ad odours that confuse his senses.

However, he really needs to say something.

— Our pleasure, King Louis. I’m Harry and this is my younger brother, Liam. We’re delighted to finally meet you.

Before he could even think about it, his mouth had opened and moved of its own. Years and years of high ranking meetings had impressed in his mind the protocol to execute automatically.

Harry feels relieved. The worst is done.

Everything must have happened in the span of a split second, but he’s not too sure, since to him the time seemed to be stretched to infinity, creating a parallel reality where the clocks had stopped to let him reflect.

But nobody seems to have noticed.

Louis’ eyes are fixated on their figure, while a faint but polite smile appears on his thin lips.

— As I said, feel at home. I’ll see you later. Excuse me.

He finally turns backwards, and Harry catches a glimpse of his lean shoulders engulfed in a silky amber blouse, before he disappears behind his guards and valets.

Harry’s room is spacious and lavish.

_“Finally a real bed, thank god”_

Harry lets his body fall backwards on the soft mattress, enjoying the feeling of fresh silk on his skin.

Harry takes a long bath, and finally, in the haze of hot vapour and tiredness, has time to think.

_“Alabira is very beautiful…”_

And it really is. Harry is used to the sobriety of the west’s cities, where white is the main colour, dotted with green leaves here and there. People live their life in a timeless motion, polite and stern, and somewhat, boring.

Harry finds the colourful chaos of Alabira much more interesting and stimulating.

_“…And so is its king.”_

Yes, that’s it. Finally, thinking about it, what happened before could be described as “being stroke by lightning”. Harry submerges his head entirely in the warm water of his bathtub. _“This can’t be good”,_ and it surely won’t be, and he needs to get a grip on himself as fast as he can.

Louis William Tomlinson, who is this man? A handsome figure and a vacant heart? Filled only with luscious jewellery and golden sparkles? Or maybe he’s an unbending ruler, strong and fierce, with a deep soul and a restless mind.

Or… what if he’s just as pleasant as he looks? That would mess harry up. He’s not sure he’d be able to snap out of it then.

Harry rewinds the moment he saw Louis the first time once again in the back of his eyes. He looked gorgeous in his golden suit, complimenting his amber skin, with his hair burnished by the blue and red hued reflection of precious stones… Almost as bright and shiny as his eyes. And that look. That feline stare that made him freeze. What did that mean? Was Louis communicating with him in a language made of mute signals and bodily vibration only?

A beat of silence in Harry’s mind.

Harry sprints out of the tub, splashing rose-scented water everywhere with a loud swishing sound.

Harry runs, almost slipping on his wet feet, and searches, fidgeting from one side of the room to the other, feeling the light breeze on his skin melt on the steamy drops of water left form a few moment earlier.

— Here you are!

Harry exclaims as he sits on the bed, crouched and focused. His hands move fastly and nervously, light drippings of water roll down his hair, falling over his forehead.

His body is completely dry now, but his hair remains damp. He grabs his parchment firmly, then he lifts it up over his head, gazing at it in admiration.

With a hint of emotion shining through his voice, he reads the words inked on the paper.

_“A glimmer of dust,_

_Golden complexion and_

_Your volatile note: sapphire peek._

_Let me see through it.”_

Harry puts on one of his best outfits. His pale pink button up, embellished with silver threads and small crystals, shines every time the soft fabric moves along his long lean body. A subtly darker shade of the same colour paints his jacket, on which front pocket’s he placed a small white jasmine flower.

He looks in the mirror once again, practices his smile a few times, and then decides to walk downstairs, where the dinner is taking place.

Harry hums a cheerful tune while walking down the stairs, trotting happily. His elegant candid hands caress lightly the surface of the wooden handrail, enjoying the ornate room, glancing at every small shiny detail.

Harry really likes this place. It feels creative and original. It feels _alive_.

He’s looking up, admiring an elaborate fresco on the ceiling, representing a couple of chubby putti drawing a bow, aiming at each other, with a serene expression on their faces. Small pinkish and yellow clouds frame the scene, while big bright coloured sunflowers appear sparingly in the scene.

— Pretty, isn’t it?

A melodic limpid voice grabs Harry’s attention.

It’s Louis, looking even more gorgeous than he did before, in his pristine light blue suit, showing an ivory button up, on top of which a satin looking aqua vest belts his sinuous waist perfectly.

_“Light blue brings his eyes out”_

Harry doesn’t hold back a smile.

  
— Yes, it’s breathtaking. 

Harry savours the last spoonful of salty caramel ice cream served for dessert, and then shyly wipes his mouth with a napkin.

He’ sitting directly across Louis. Harry swears he has been staring at him slyly, grinning feebly, throwing cutting sideways glances at him.

This made Harry’s heart pound faster and faster, and in the desperate attempt to calm down, he kept smiling dumbly and directing his attention elsewhere, trying hard not to blush.

They exchanged a pleasant and light chatter for the whole time, as it’s expected from four young men perfectly trained to interact with the public.

The forth one is Niall Horan. Louis introduced him as his most loyal counsellor and friend. Harry instinctively liked him. His kind blue eyes inspire a sense of trustworthiness and amicability.

— My dear guests, may I suggest we move into another room to pursue our conversations? It would be my pleasure to offer you a cigar and some good eastern liquor.

Louis says, interrupting Niall’s loud chatter with Liam.

— Oh, yes! That’s a wonderful idea, Louis!

_“Niall has a funny accent. I guess where that comes from”_

Harry smiles to himself, and then stands up to follow the small company of men that’s now walking through the room.

Harry observes Louis’ movements, natural and delicate, while he comfortably sits on a cosy looking arm-chair. Niall and Louis do the same, quietly chatting with each other.

— Please Harry, take a sit.

Louis says, looking at the young man, who was too occupied intensely staring at him to notice he has been standing in front of the door for a while now.

Harry immediately shakes up, and smiles awkwardly.

— Oh! Yes, yes, sure — Harry stutters, red-faced, feeling embarrassed for bing called out — I was… Admiring the room. 

Louis can’t hold back a giggle.

— The room you say?

Harry catches a glimpse of that feline stare, the same one from earlier. He feels like a mouse in a trap, and hopes Louis won’t continue looking at him like _that._

Luckily, Louis doesn’t wait for Harry’s — slowed by flusteredness — mind to process a coherent answer.

— Well, you know, I’ve redecorated this room according to my tastes, which are really peculiar in terms of furnishing…

Harry sighs in relief.

_“I should start behaving like an adult”_

Harry sits on the arm-chair next to the young king and listens to his voice more than to what he’s saying.

He looks around the room, and agrees that Louis has definitely a remarkable style. The walls are painted in a soft cream tone, and the floor is covered with a soft carpet, of a colour that harry would describe as a _“mimic of the perfect green shade”_.  
  


The furniture is of a pleasant milky tint, and the massive frame that supports a long painting of a sunflower camp is of a gold tinge, shining at the light reflected from the large crystal chandelier.

Harry’s eyes wander in the room, until they lighten with enthusiasm: a mighty white piano stands at the centre of the chamber.

— Who plays the piano? — He spouts out in excitement, his voice higher than usual.

Everybody’s eyes focus on him, and he feels his cheeks redden.

— I do, but Niall does it too, sometimes. I can surely say I’m better than him though. — Louis giggles, looking at Harry with a friendly stare.

— Why don’t you play something for us, Niall? Show him who’s _better_! — Liam says, patting his new friend’s back.

— Ha! Envious much, Louis? You know I’m the best at playing! — Niall’s loud laughter echoes in the room, while everyone smiles comfortably, it’s beginning to feel like a really pleasant evening.

Niall doesn’t wait for Louis’ response, who’s now looking at him with his amused eyes, and sits by the piano.

Niall closes his eyes, and swiping backwards the tail of his jacket, now recalls all his focus. Everyone stays silent, as they were in a real auditorium, waiting fo a full orchestra to play.

He finally puts his fingers on the piano keys, and then sighs.

His hands start moving, fast, and a cheerful tone begins floating in the air of the room.

_“On Saint Patrick’s Day we parade,_

_And work at every day at our trade,_

_At carrying the hod, turning the sod,_

_And find in the end it has paid…._

_It’s the Irish, you know!”_

An echo of laughter breaks the seriousness.

Niall keeps singing his Irish folk ballad, while the the other three keep time clapping their hands, laughing, singing out of tune.

When the song it’s over, and everybody is still light with glee, Harry finally catches a glimpse of Louis’ laughter. He still hadn’t see him smiling properly, without a shadow of politeness and integrity. His real _“happy face”_ looks like the most beautiful thing. His pink lips stretched, his pearly white teeth showing, and his piercing blue eyes half-closed, with a small set of crinkles on the sides.

There’s no hint of deception or fiction; just Louis and his brief moment of total honesty, and Harry feels so lucky to have caught it.

— Now it’s your turn Louis! — Niall shouts, his words sightly interrupted with the few remains of laughter.

Louis smiles charmingly to his friend, and gets up.

— I’m sorry Niall, I think it’s enough awful playing for today. We should go to sleep my friends, to rest our body and minds for tomorrow’s meeting. We have a few things to discuss.

The sudden change of mood falls heavy on the room. Everybody has regained their composure, and now is agreeing quietly.

— You’re absolutely right King Louis. We’ll retire in our rooms right now. Important matters need clarity of mind to be confronted.

Liam’s voice breaks the silence. With a gesture of his hand invites Harry to follow his advice.

Harry nods and smiles, say goodnight to his new acquaintances, and exits the room. The sound of Louis’ laugh still echoing in his mind.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Harry feels proud. If Desdmond had been there, he would’ve given him a pat on the back.”

Harry walks in the council room feeling excited and nervous.

He spent the whole night fantasising about Louis. Yes, _embarrassing_ , he told himself a least one hundred times a last. However, these feelings seem to help him come up with new ideas for his poetic compositions, so he indulges in them a bit more than he should.  
  


— Good morning gentlemen, — Louis greets the two brothers — Hope you had a restful night.

They nod, and accommodate themselves on the chairs facing the king.

— I guess it’s time to talk politics, — Louis continues — As you already know, it’s no secret that the Sunflower Kingdom is in a difficult situation of crisis right now.

— Yes, we know the talk about it, and we’ve also seen it with out eyes.

Liam’s serious tone makes Harry a bit stiff, he’s not used to it.

— You’ve seen it? Where exactly?

— We passed through the Skopeerk borough before arriving in Alabira. We decided to take a look at it, since that’s were the revolting started, — Harry talks, and feels strangely confident, which makes his voice drop a tone — I think that was enough for us to understand the situation.

Louis’ eyes widen. Harry notices it, but it’s just a split second before they turn back to their normal, piercing, stare.

— I don’t.. — Louis sighs, and turns his back to the two young men, and is now facing the window — I don’t think you understand.

These words are spoken in a bit more than a whisper.

— Listen, King Louis, we’re here to help. We came here to make sure your Kingdom has the strength to compete with the other two reigns. A solid bond of friendship has linked our nations together, and I, — Harry stops for a beat, and looks at his brother — _We_ , want to keep this bond secured.

Liam gazes back at Harry, and smiles. _“You’re doing a good job”_ that’s what his eyes are saying.

Louis stays silent.

Niall, whose presence has been almost imperceptible until now, intervenes, making sure the silence between the three doesn’t get too long.

— And we’re really thankful of that, Prince Harry. We want our friendship to continue as well. What is your proposal?

Harry tries to not pay too much attention to Louis’, still standing and looking trough the crystalline glass. His figure is lighten by the morning sun, creating a white aura around his minute silhouette.

— We are going to provide five thousand pounds of wheat, and we’ll establish together which commercial gateway we want to favour, diminishing its exportation fees. This way you should have the time to draft agricultural facilities, and slowly, releasing the financial pressure on the necessitous social class.

Harry feels proud. If Desdmond had been there, he would’ve given him a pat on the back.

— That sounds very advantageous for us, Harry — Louis finally turns, facing Harry with an icy stare — But how’s that advantageous for you?

Harry is taken a bit aback. 

— As I said, our friendship bond-

— That’s all? Friendships bonds? Are you seriously telling me you’re offering us thousands pounds of wheat in the name of _“friendship”_?

Louis’ voice lets a hint of temper shine trough, while his hand grip paints his knuckles white.

Harry won’t let intimidation prevail, even if to him a slight raise of voice is enough to be a bit scared. He doesn’t really like confrontation, especially when it’s coming from a King.

— That’s not _all,_ Louis. — Harry frowns faintly — The Orchid Kingdom is in an enough favourable condition to help a hundred year old nation’s friend, and that’s what we’ll do. The Sunflower must commit to lower their importation fees for us. Your fabrics are highly requested in our domain, as also is the ancient artisanship, an many other good that are only available in the east.

The room goes silent again.

— I see. Then there’s something _you_ _want_ _back_. — Louis’ nerves seems to be loosening — And that’s exactly how it should be. The Sunflower Kingdom doesn’t want nobody’s charity.

Louis’ voice is stern, but limpid. To Harry seems sincere.

— This is state affair, let’s not forget that.

Louis delivers this cutting line directly to Harry. In that exact moment, The orchid boy understands that Louis has definitely noticed what he’s been desperately trying to hide to him; and once again, his naivety has been used against him.

But Louis isn’t naive, and knows exactly what he’s doing.

Harry isn’t letting his emotions get ahold of him. He’s keeping his cool, yes. He won’t be menaced by anyone. At least… He hope he’ll be capable to do so.

Yet, his voice won’t come out anymore. He’s at loss of words, and even if he wasn’t, he feels like he can’t compete with Louis’ perseverance. So, he remains silent.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ”He’s sixteen years old, his hair are long and unruly, and he’s reading his favourite poetry book aloud.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem quoted is called “La pioggia nel pineto” by Gabriele D’Annunzio, translated in English by Stefi at http://literatureandtranslation.blogspot.com/2014/02/la-pioggia-nel-pineto-una-poesia-di.html
> 
> I extracted some of it, what I thought would fit the narration. Enjoy and thank you!

Rain falls hard on the stone gazebo where Harry is sitting. He’s sixteen years old, his hair are long and unruly, and he’s reading his favourite poetry book aloud.

Peeking through the top of the book, he glances at the blond head in front of him.

«Be silent. At the edge

of the woods I do not hear

the human words you say;

I hear new words

spoken by droplets and leaves

far away»

— Ah! Serendipity. It’s raining in the book and it’s raining here. We’re completely immersed.

— Yes Blake. I saw the clouds and I chose it for this exact reason.

— Also, there’s nobody here. The only sound it’s our voices and the rain. It’s exactly what we’re experiencing right now.

— Yes, it is. Also, _be silent,_ so I can continue reading.

Blakes giggles. Harry immediately feels his stomach turn, and yes – he’s got a heavy crush on him.

The blond haired beauty he sees is the seventeen year old son of the North’s Duke, Hogar Worzart. They’ve been staying at the palace for a few weeks, and Harry doesn’t know why. Also, he doesn’t care.

He’s happy to be passing time with someone who understands him — kind of, at least — and doesn’t make fun of his love for literature and writing.

They’ve been reading poems almost everyday this summer, and today, at the start of September, when the first drop of rain fell on the ground, they still didn’t want to stop their secret poetic _rendezvous_ ; so they went out anyway.

Their spot hides in the most obscure part of the palace garden, near a pond. The place feels almost forgotten by everyone. Stone statues are circled where a dried fountain covered in moss is placed. The gazebo is grey and green, soiled and grimy. But that’s their favourite place nonetheless, hidden by tick capes of dense leaves trees.

«Listen. It rains

from the scattered clouds.

It rains on the briny, burned

tamarisk,

it rains on the pine trees

scaly and rough»

Blake adjusts his position. He’s now resting his head on Harry’s lap, both of them left their bodies fall relaxed on the stony ground, Harry’s back leaned on the side of a column.

Harry opens his mouth to say something about the poem, but Blake hushes him, placing his long lean finger on his mouth, moving his hand aimlessly before finding his lips.

— Keep reading. I like this one.

Harry feels his chest pump a bit faster, surprised by the sudden touch.

« It rains on the divine

myrtle,

on the bright ginestra flowers

gathered together,

on the junipers full of

fragrant berries, »

Blake closes his eyes, listening to the sound of Harry’s melodic voice, a bit wobbly because of the age. He had been discovering a whole new low tone he can reach.

« It rains on our sylvan

faces,

it rains on our

bare hands

on our light

clothes,

on the fresh thoughts

that our soul, renewed,

liberates. »

Harry reads these words almost breathless, and he can’t tell why. It may be the weight of Blake’s head on his lap, or his sweet scent, or maybe his hand, that now moved toward his cheek, and is lightly caressing it.

He leans his face on Blake’s hand slightly, while enjoying the moment of pure bliss and relaxation.  
  


— Keep reading Harry, please.

«… And your inebriated face

is soft from the rain,

like a leaf,

and your hair is

is fragrant like the light

ginestra flowers,

oh terrestrial creature

called..»

Blakes got up, and now is facing Harry with a tipsy stare. His cheeks are flushed, and his lips plump . He reaches again for the other boy’s face, but touches his hair instead, lightly at first, but then he takes a handful of curls and pushes it backwards, exposing Harry’s white forehead.

Harry doesn’t talk.

— Keep.. — Blake’s voice is low and breathy — Keep reading Harry.

« Listen, listen. The song

of the flying cicadas

becomes fainter

and fainter

as the weeping

grows stronger, »

— This is so beautiful Harry. Your voice sounds so beautiful.

Blake places his other thumb on Harry’s lips, pushing it down a bit, revealing his white teeth.

Harry slowly opens his mouth, and lets his tongue faintly caress his thumb, while he keeps an ajar stare.

The blond one pushes gently his thumb further in Harry’s mouth, now feeling the hot wetness on his skin. He brushes his finger on his teeth, and on his tongue.

— Keep reading for me.

«It rains on your black lashes

as if you were weeping,

weeping from joy; not white

but almost green,

you seem to come out of the bark.

And life is in us fresh

and fragrant…»

His voice his obstructed by Blake’s finger. He keeps moving it, brushing it on his tongue, on his lips.

Harry breath flutters with anticipation. His chest moves fastly.

Blake comes closer, and licks his top lip. He kisses it gently, and licks it again.

He stops for a second, looking into Harry’s green eyes with a gaze that exudes excitement.

Then he grabs Harry’s face, pulling out his wet thumb out of the boy’s mouth. A wet shiny strand of saliva glazes Harry’s cheek.

He kisses him firmly. Their tongues clashing and melting together. Their mouths joined with force, almost violence. They push their bodies together. One grabs the other’s locks with strength, while soft moans mix with the rustling sound of the rain. 


End file.
